Danny would say nothing. He had nothing he cared to tell. Just knowing she still loved him was enough. All through the bitter tears, the dark-tempered years and the razor-blade at the wrist, she loved him. While others started to walk away from him in the schoolyard, stopped passing him the ball, whispered as he left a room … Through all that, Yvonne Marsh had loved him like a big anchor on a small boat in a wild sea.
And then she’d started to just … forget.
Forget that she loved him.
Forget that they shared a secret.
Forget even that she was his mother and he was her son.
It happened slowly and in patches, but it happened. And Danny found that
A boat is not an anchor. Yvonne Marsh was deep beneath the waves with a broken rope that swayed with the tides. Sometimes he could grasp that rope and feel the old tug of her. But, mostly, once his mother’s mind was lost at sea, Danny Marsh was set adrift.
Even Jonas had let go of the line that had tethered him to the rest of the world.
Now, as Danny sat in the little room where he had grown up – where the back of the door still showed a faded poster of Uma Thurman in
Instead of a secret strengthening their bond, Jonas had been the first to withdraw.
No more fishing, no more crazy dares, no more galloping about the moors. Once, when Jonas had brought an injured baby rabbit to school in a shoebox, he’d looked wary and turned away so that Danny couldn’t stroke it the way all the other kids had.
When Danny had finally summoned up the guts to ask him what was wrong – even though he
Nothing had ever hurt him so much. Not then, at least. Not until the day his demented mother had screamed in terror and threatened to call the police if he didn’t get out of her house.
He could still feel the coin slicing his brow and the feeling of shock and the sheer
Danny sighed and got up now and looked in the cracked mirror of the wardrobe. The scar was still there above his left eye.
Danny wondered if Jonas still remembered
Except maybe gratitude.
Danny Marsh stared into the mirror and watched his face fight tears. Despite her inconstant love, losing his mother was like losing the last part of himself that was a blameless boy. There was nobody else in the world he could turn to now. Not even his father, who could not be expected to catch up with reality so late in life.
And Jonas Holly – who owed him
Jonas gave Lucy her stuff. He’d got better at it over the years, but it was never routine to finish the washing up and then plunge needles into your wife’s hip. The little bruises never faded, just went brown and got covered up by new ones.
He looked down at her now, lying curled on her side with her bruised backside exposed, and could hardly bear her vulnerability. He wished Dr Wickramsinghe could be here, wished he could feel what
She raised her head and looked round at him, a gentle smile on her lips.
‘Stop looking at my bum, pervert!’
Jonas smiled. He pulled her pyjamas back up her hip, then slid on to the couch behind her, tucking his long legs against hers, tugging her tummy towards him so they were touching everywhere. She covered his hand with hers and he buried his nose in the back of her neck. She smelled like fresh laundry.
‘Are you still going out?’ she said softly.